Don't Tell Anyone
by blacksouledbutterfly
Summary: At his 10 year high school reunion Noah Puckerman comes back to get the girl that got away- and with a not so savory job in his back pocket.


It's warm. It's very warm. Almost too warm to focus but he manages to. There's almost no moon in the sky at all, almost no natural light at all to guide anyone. The just went down and he waits. He waits and waits and waits, settled down in what should be a very uncomfortable but he's comfortable enough nonetheless. There's this heated breeze around him, one that's making a tiny bit of sweat pool on his upper lip but he doesn't let himself care about that. Instead he's more focus on the tangible feeling of the gun in his hands, the weight of it, the smoothness of the butt and the way it feels in his palm, his sweaty palm that at one point would have meant it was sliding out of his hand but he's gotten to the point where he's very good at holding onto a gun. He's been gazing through the scope for what feels like a while. When he was younger he would have become quite impatient because of it but his patience has multiplied exponentially over the years. His patience now can barely be matched by anyone he has ever known in his life.

He's perched on a building across from an apartment building waiting. He's waiting and waiting and waiting. He always waits. He waits sometimes for so long he can feel his legs falling asleep and his eyes want to shut. But they don't shut. He goes by on very little sleep most of the time and that doesn't bother him. Somehow it keeps him on his toes. It's not usually the case. Usually that just makes focusing harder. But at times like that it doesn't make him lose his focus even a little. Because waiting is his job. Waiting comes with the territory. You wait and you try your best to make sure you do the job right the first time around. People don't really like when you don't get the job done the first time around. They tend to get very upset indeed.

People think that hunting someone down that way is an easy job, that it's all about watching the person. You sort of become a stalker. You have to follow them and you have to make sure that everything goes right. If you don't get to know the target then your job is a million times harder. You have to make sure that you know each and every move that they make so you can pick out the best time to make your move. You don't want to do it when it's too quiet; you don't want to do it in too private of a location because if you can cause a type of panic then you can have a better chance of getting out of there in the confusion. When people are afraid they tend to panic and when they panic? Well, you have a better chance of blending into the crowd, just disappearing around the others and no one ever knows it's you.

He's been watching his target for weeks getting to know his routine. There have been times when he did it differently than he is just then. Sometimes he would get up close and personal with them. He would do it in different ways, sometimes he would pull the trigger using a gun with a silencer when he was up close to them. Sometimes he would use a knife. There were times he just nicked the carotid artery. Sometimes people didn't even realize that they were cut until it was too late. They would bleed out rather quickly. And the blood on his hands showed that he was so very good at what he did. But other times he liked being further away from them. Just pulled the trigger and sent the bullet into their head, usually between the eyes. It was cleaner. It made things be done and over with rather quickly.

The more efficient you are the more likely you are to get more jobs. And getting jobs is the only way to make sure you can survive in that business. And it's the best way to make sure bad things don't happen. If you're not efficient and you screw up you can be the next one with a contract out on you and that's not something he's willing to let happen. He refuses to be the one with a hit out on his head. He's never failed in a contract before and he refuses to do it now. So he just sits there and waits.

His target is what one might call a lowlife in a way that's not like he is- and he doesn't mistake himself in thinking that he wouldn't be considered a lowlife. People who kill others for money tend to be considered lowlifes in most civilized societies. But that's not the same kind of lowlife as the one that he's been paid to target. He's sort of one of those people that runs those pyramid schemes and he's pissed off literally hundreds of people. Eddie Lisbon is one of those people that tends to be insanely cocky. He walks around as though he's done nothing wrong despite that there are any number of people who could be out to kill him. All of them could want him dead. It'd be so easy to actually get away with it. Especially since names aren't something he uses. His clients don't know his name and he doesn't know theirs. It's cleaner and so much more efficient that way.

Eddie's wife left him about a year ago, supposedly because of differences that they can't resolve. That they can never resolve, or so she said. Rumor has it she left him not just because of the scheme but because of his array of lovers which he doesn't understand. Eddie isn't even remotely attractive. He is, however, rather rich and rich men tend to get a lot of women. Women go with the money. They foolishly think they're going to be the girl that makes a guy leave his wife. It's fucking pathetic most of the time. He'll never understand it, will never understand women who think they're going to be the one to make a guy divorce his wife. Eddie didn't leave his wife though. She was leaving him. So the odds of her missing her husband when he's gone? That's slim.

A drop of sweat drips off his top lip but he doesn't reach up to wipe it away. He's just watching the building entrance, waiting for his mark to come out and make sure everything is done. It needs to be done. He's tired of watching this man already. He wants to finish the job and get the rest of his money. Half of it upfront, the rest when the job is complete. That's how he operates. That's how he'll always operate. Nothing has changed that and nothing ever _will_ change that. So he just has to wait. It shouldn't be much longer. He knows that for a fact. He's watched his mark long enough to know about what time he gets home every single night. No need to be there _too_ long. A couple of hours already is more than enough time.

Almost as though bidden by his thoughts Eddie starts to make his way down the street. Eddie with his gray hair and his extraordinarily expensive suit, far too expensive for his taste. It was a waste of money in his opinion. He would never wear a suit that expensive even if he had the money to afford it, even if he had a reason to wear a suit. He walks down the street like he's the most amazingly supreme person in the entire world. It was almost laughable. It was actually the most laughable thing he had ever seen. But he couldn't bring himself to laugh. He had to focus a bit more on what he's doing rather than focusing on how stupid the man looked, how he moved as though he didn't have a care in the world when he had ruined so many lives. Not that the lives that were ruined were any of his concern. All that he was concerned with was actually killing the man he was hired to kill.

Eddie pauses near the doorway of the building, takes his phone out of his pocket, checks it. Important men and their never-ending need to be on their cellphone. It's insanely predictable and almost sickening. They always have to look like they have something going on even when they don't. He, however, doesn't take out his phone until he absolutely has to. In the end he usually keeps it off when he's on a job. Cellphone signals can be tracked and the last thing he needs is to be caught. So he waits. He waits until Eddie is wrapped up in his phone conversation before he his finger squeezes the trigger.

The bullet hits Eddie in the head right in the center of the forehead. His head jerks back just a tiny bit, blood not appearing in the front of him right away. The back of his head gets blown out, blood and brain matter splattering the side of the building and then his knees buckle beneath him as he falls down to the ground, the phone tumbling out of his hand. A part of him would love to wait and see the rest of the chaos that will surely ensue but instead he just backs away from the edge of the roof, takes apart the gun with keen precision and tucks it back into the duffle bag he brought it up onto the building in, zips the bag up and makes his way down off of the roof.

By the time he's out on the street people are already starting to gather around the body to see what happened. Some people are rushing down the street because they either don't want to be involved or because they're afraid of getting shot themselves. He moves at an even pace, doesn't run as to look suspicious, doesn't walk too slow as to give himself away as to show he's trying to pace himself. It's a practice he's grown accustomed to over the years. He just keeps moving and doesn't look back. He just gets to his car, deposits the bag in the trunk and then climbs in, pulls out of the parking space even as he's buckling up his seatbelt so he can head home.

Lingering around is never a productive thing to do.

* * *

His apartment is somewhat of a mess but he's rarely ever there so it doesn't really bother him much at all. If he were there more he might find time to clean it but as it were he doesn't really care at all. There's a message on the machine from his mother- the third one he's gotten recently and he hasn't responded to any of them. He doesn't put it off because he doesn't want to listen to her but because he's not really sure what to say to her. It's not as though he can accurately explain to her what's been going on with his life. Not without lying and he doesn't want to deal with that just yet.

The rest of his money should be dropped off in the designated location the following day once word gets out that Eddie is indeed dead. He has a pile of mail on his coffee table he hasn't had the chance to go through yet so when he first gets into the apartment he drops his bag into his closet, locks it back up so that he doesn't have to really deal with it at the moment, goes into the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of beer from the fridge before heading back into the living room and sitting down on the couch with a heavy sigh.

Taking the cap off of the bottle he tosses it onto the coffee table and then he leans back as he takes a sip from the bottle, tugs the mail off of the table and starts to go through it. A couple of bills, some junk mail. The cellphone he turned back on once he reached his apartment building starts to vibrate in his pocket so he put the beer bottle down so he can take it out and answer it, rests it on his shoulder and holds it there with his head. "Yeah, Ma?" There's no one else that would be calling him really. He has very few friends and none of them know his cellphone number and no one ever contacts him for jobs via phone.

His mother starts prattling on and on about how she called him and he hadn't called back as he comes across an envelope that's a tiny bit more appealing to him than the others, one that has a postmark from his home state but it's not his mother's address. So he just lets his mother prattle on as he opens the envelope and looks over the note inside to see the invitation to his ten year high school reunion inside. It's probably one of the most surprising letters he's ever gotten. He actually can't even believe it's been ten years since he graduated from high school.

"I've been busy," he finally sighs as his mother takes a deep breath so that she can continue on with her talking. He figures it's the best thing to do, to cut in and apologize. Well, apologize in a way that's not really an apology. "I was going to call you as soon as I had the chance. Just hadn't gotten it until now."

"You should _make_ time to talk to your own mother," she responds in that same tone of voice she always used to use when she would give him a big lecture. She as always good at the lectures. Lectures were sort of really her thing and probably always would be. He had this idea she'd probably _die_ lecturing people. "I'm your mother. I'm the only one you're ever going to have. You should just make time to at least let me know you're still alive. You could be dead for all I know if you don't call me."

"If I was dead they'd call you. You're my next of kin." It's a logical answer though she doubts that logic will actually do him any good in that situation. His mother merely believes what she believes and that's all that there is to it. "Trust me, Ma. If something happens to me then you'll know."

"That doesn't encourage me any."

"Sorry." He isn't really sorry though because he isn't doing anything wrong. He just tosses the invitation and the rest of the paperwork onto the table, picks his beer bottle back up and takes a long drink out of it. "Is that why you called? To check up on me? I'm flattered, Ma. But you don't need to worry about me that much. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

"You can be fifty and you'll still be my baby. Which means I'm always going to worry about you."

"Right." It's an argument that he's heard about six million times before. That she's always going to worry about him and nothing will ever change that. He's not sure why he's not used to her saying that yet. Maybe he hopes one day she'll let go and just realize he's an adult and he can do things on his own, that he doesn't need her protection and he doesn't need her to worry about him all the time. But he doubts it. Mothers are, well, they're mothers. They don't let go of their children easily. He's seen it in people other than his own mother. "Did you hear they're doing a reunion for my class?"

"Of course I have. The whole town is talking about their kids coming home. Are _you_ going to be here? I haven't seen you in so long I'm starting to forget what you look like."

"No you're not." He always thought that Rachel Berry was dramatic but his mother? Well, she could give the tiny little diva a run for her money. She's about as dramatic as they come and she doesn't mince words. She's not one to hide when she's displeased and she's not above subtle manipulation to get her children to do exactly what she wants them to do. "You remember exactly what I look like. But I think I'm going to skip the reunion."

"Skip the reunion? Why would you skip the reunion? All of your friends from high school are going to be there."

"Exactly. They're my friends from high school. As in ten years ago. As in people I don't even talk to anymore. Why would I care about going back to see them? No offense to them or anything but going to see them isn't really high on my to do list. I can definitely live without seeing them and hearing them all talk about their lives and their relationships and whatever kids they might have."

"You know, you could have a family to talk about if you wanted to. A wife, kids. If you really wanted to. It just doesn't seem like you do."

"Ma, not this again."

"What? You should be able to find a nice girl rather easily if that's what you wanted. You just don't seem to put in the effort. And that's a shame because you could end up alone and miserable for the rest of your life. And I don't want to see that happen to you."

"You just want grandchildren," he argues mildly.

"If that's all I wanted I could get that from your sister. It's not just about wanting grandchildren. It's about wanting you to be happy. And I think you're shutting yourself off from happiness though I can't imagine why. And you could gain a lot of happiness from going to that reunion. You should see all of your old friends again."

"I already told you-"

"Rachel will be there."

Puck pauses with the beer bottle almost to his lips at the mention of her name, swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. Rachel Berry, the girl that had plagued his thoughts for most of the last decade. Of course his mother would bring her up. She likes to go for the jugular, find a person's kryptonite and use it against them is she needs to just so she can get what she wants.

He dated Rachel senior year, much to the surprise of basically everyone. The town badass, the school stud was dating the little diva, the girl with the big Broadway dreams. It wasn't something anyone expected but the fact of the matter was that he liked Rachel Berry. He cared about her. He was drawn to her and he couldn't explain it because she talked too much for his usual taste and she was a bit of a drama queen. She was a lot to handle at times but he cared about her more than he wanted to admit to even himself.

He really didn't know where things were going to go with them at the time. He just knew that he cared about her. He cared about her a whole lot. But he knew that he wanted to be with her then. And they were working pretty well together. He couldn't deny that they were but as the time went on, as the school year grew closer to a close, he knew that he had to do something with his life. And in the end he made a stupid choice. In the end he screwed up and he broke her heart. Or he gathered he broke her heart from the few e-mails he got from her after he took off.

It was the night of the prom and he had intended for them to go together. He truly had. He never planned on leaving her high and dry the way he was. But things were starting to really suffocate him in Lima. Everyone was talking about their future plans. They were preparing to go to college or wherever the world was going to take them. And he was starting to realize if he didn't watch himself he really would end up in Lima for the rest of his life, he would be a Lima loser and that was the last thing that he wanted to become.

And so he acted without really thinking. He packed his bag and he took off. He was in his truck on the highway when he sent Rachel a text, told her simply that he was sorry and then he threw his cellphone out of his truck window and let it shatter on the highway, looked at the pieces of it in his rearview window and never looked back. He never responded to any of her e-mails, didn't contact his mother for weeks afterwards and got a huge earful for just taking off the way he did. He had walked away from everything and he never once looked back. He never returned to Lima. He had only let his mother and sister visit him once. He had tried to create himself a new life far away from Lima and all the people there. It was like it wasn't even him that lived there sometimes. Sometimes he couldn't even relate to the boy he once was.

"Trust me when I say I'm the last person she wants to see, Ma."

"It's been ten years, Noah. I'm sure she's forgiven you for walking out on the night of the prom by now."

"I think you underestimate her ability to hold a grudge."

"I think you overestimate it. You were kids. Ten years has passed. You've both had a lifetime to grow up and get over whatever happened to both of you in high school. I think she's old enough and mature enough to let go of the past."

"You really do overestimate teenage girls, Ma. It's been a long time since you were one."

"Watch it."

Puck almost smiles, _almost_. He knows his mother isn't really angry at him but she has to act like she's angry. That's just how it is. He gets to her, he says things that bother her and upset her. But not enough to truly make her mad. Not enough to make her want to yell at him for hours. And he had given her plenty of reasons to be angry at him for basically the rest of his life yet she wasn't. She always loved him and she accepted him, problems and screw-ups and all. She was just that kind of a mother. She could accept all the things that the rest of the town couldn't really except about him. It just made everything seem so much better in knowing that his mother didn't ever judge him for the stupid shit he had done. Of course, she didn't really know what he did for a living so that might change if she knew the truth. Not that he planned on telling her. That just wouldn't go over well. It was better kept a secret.

"Look, Ma," Puck sighed as he lifted his bottle up to his mouth and took a sip from it, swallowed hard before he started to talk again. "I know you just want to see me. I know you're trying to get me to come home. It's understandable. You haven't seen me in forever. I get it. But that doesn't mean I want to go. It doesn't mean that I want to show up at the reunion. It would be pretty stupid. I didn't even go to graduation. And I didn't keep in contact with any of them. It'll probably end up in a really awkward moment between Rachel and I. You _do_ know that, right?"

"What's the worst thing that could happen if you went to the reunion?"

He could end up getting slapped in front of the entire senior class by the Broadway star that he once dated. (It'd be a lie if he were to say he had never stopped in and saw her on stage when he was in New York on business though he never let anyone know that he went there to see her.) He could end up accidentally revealing what he did for a living and that was dangerous. It could get him arrested or killed. And his mother? Yeah, it would probably end up breaking her heart. Who wants to find out that their little boy kills people for a living? No one sane, that was for sure. No one sane wanted to see their child grow up to kill people for money. And beyond that it was illegal. Fuck, murder for hire could get you the death penalty. And having his mother have to watch him get a fucking lethal injection or something? Yeah, not high on his list of things that he wanted to do before he kicked the bucket.

"You're not going to stop bugging me until I agree to go, are you?" he reasons with a heavy sigh.

"You already know the answer to that question."

And the thing was that he _did_ know the answer to that question. His mother was nothing if not persistent. She would call him and leave him a thousand messages until he agreed to go to the damn reunion. It was just something he knew would happen. He wasn't stupid enough to think otherwise. "Fine," he sighed. "If it'll get you to stop bothering me then I'll go."

And the fact of the matter was that he could almost hear the way his mother smiled at the news that he was going to go to the reunion. As stupid as that sounded he could almost hear it.

* * *

Being back in his old bedroom is a fucking trip. His sister isn't home when he gets there and he's sort of happy about that. He loves the girl but she could be annoying as all fuck. Still, he' sort of looking forward to seeing her again. He misses her in his own way even if she can be really, really annoying. The thing is that she doesn't even try to be annoying. She just succeeds. Must be in the Puckerman women DNA. They can be annoying as all fuck without even trying to be and he just isn't sure how he survived most of his childhood with just the two females and him. His ability to stay sane with all of that was actually pretty amazing.

Sitting on his bed just makes him think about the times that he and Rachel would hang out in his room sitting on his bed and then just to shut her up he'd kiss her. He'd kiss her because that was the best way to stop her from babbling at him until he lost his mind. It made him think of the way she would let out this little whimpering sound every single time that he did that, that he kissed her to shut her up she'd let out this sound in the back of her throat and he'd just smirk against her mouth. But she never protested and she never tried to push him away. She always gave into it right away, always just kissed him right back. They spent a lot of time there on his bed, their mouths pressed together, his hands buried in her hair.

Being in his room and thinking about those things should make him feel really upset, really sad, really awkward. But it didn't. Not even a little bit. That year that he dated her was the best of his high school career. Not that he was about to tell anyone that. It would seem cheesy and ridiculous if he told people that dating her was the best part of his whole time in high school. They'd think it was ridiculous partially because he spent most of his time screwing whatever girl that he could get his hands on and he didn't seem like he cared much about being with a girl and actually being with her. So if he admitted that she was the best part of high school for him? Well, it would totally put a damper on his image.

But it wasn't just that. How could he explain that the girl he abandoned that way was the best thing that had ever happened to him? It wouldn't make sense to anyone but him. They'd all think he was full of shit or trying to play some sort of game when it was nothing of the sort. If he ever became so inclined as to tell someone that she was the best part of his time in high school he wouldn't be doing it for any other reason than he would be telling the truth. She mattered to him more than any other girl had ever mattered to him. And not just the girls in high school. No girl he had ever dated or slept with since then had even come close to mattering to him as much. He might even go as far as to saying that he had been in love with her. He didn't believe in soulmates or that someone could be the love of another person's life but if that shit was true? Yeah, he could totally see Rachel having been that girl for him. And he had been the one to fuck it up.

The thing was that he tried not to think about her. He didn't want to think about her. the more he thought about her the more he wished he had done something different, the more he wished he had given her some warning that he was leaving or that maybe he had stayed with her to begin with. It wasn't like he regretted the rest of what happened in his life since leaving Lima. But leaving her? Losing her? Letting her down and disappointing her? It was the one thing she regretted more than anything else he had done in leaving Lima that night. And thinking about it would only leave him with more regrets, would make him think about what could have been if he hadn't taken off. He didn't really think that they would have gotten married and lived happily ever after or anything. But maybe they would have had a chance to have some sort of a long-term relationship. Maybe. If he put the effort in. not that he was good at putting the effort into something like that.

But, well, the chances of that are pretty much gone. Well, he's pretty sure that they are. She's not married, he knows that from the times he was in the city because he watched her, he watched her like he did his targets though he had no intention of hurting her, but that doesn't mean anything. He wishes that they could have another chance, or at least a small part of him does. That part of him that will never really let her go even if he has to. Holding onto him no good. But he knows he screwed up far too much for there to be a chance at them being together again- with or without his less than savory job. So he has to stop thinking about how things could have been but never would be.

His mother and his sister bug the hell out of him with questions about his life that night at dinner. There was only so much he could tell them without revealing the one thing they didn't truly want to know but didn't know they didn't want to know- and that barely made sense even to him. But he tried and tried and tried to tell them as much as he could without revealing the things that would make them look at him differently. He tried not to lie too much because that would just make things really awkward between them. And he didn't really have a habit of lying to his mother anyway. He just had to toe the line.

It's all pretty low profile and casual up until the day of the reunion. He doesn't really even want to be there. That's a fact. He sort of wishes that he hadn't shown up to be there for the reunion like his mother wanted. Because as he was standing there in his room getting ready for it he tried to figure out what the fuck he was going to tell people when they asked him what he did for a living. Telling them the truth wasn't even close to an option. People didn't tend to take that little bit of information too well. Not that he ever told anyone about what he did for a living. Then he'd have to kill them. And he doesn't like the idea of killing people for pleasure. He's a lot of things but a sociopath isn't one of them. And true, he has a cover job as an accountant but despite the fact that he's proven he's good at math he doubts they'd believe he actually decided to turn into a fucking accountant to make his living. Still, that little cover is going to have to do. He can't just tell them what he really does and he doesn't have the originality to come up with something else entirely as a cover.

The high school is sort of like the biggest head fuck in the world. He hates being there. But he also sort of loves it. There were some good times at McKinley. Not many but some good times. Glee club wasn't all bad and neither was playing football. But there weren't that many good times to remember. He wished there were. It would make walking into the high school a lot less bizarre.

The thing is that the first person that comes up to him is Finn fucking Hudson. It's sort of really fucking weird because they were best friends way back when but for a long time they both had feelings for the same girl. Well, girls. First it was Quinn- and that ended really fucking badly because of the whole Beth drama. He doesn't regret his daughter but it definitely made things complicated. She may have been an accident but she wasn't a mistake. And then, of course, there was Rachel. And when he and Rachel got together in senior year it put a really big wedge between the two of them. Because that made two girls that got with Finn and then got with him.

But Finn has this sort of surprised but really fucking big smile on his face as he goes over to him, reaches out and slams his hand on Puck's back in greeting. "Didn't think you were going to show up, man." Hudson looks exactly the same which doesn't surprise him. He knows that the guy ended up staying in Lima but only because of his mother. It doesn't surprise him though. He sort of figured the dude would end up working at his stepfather's garage. And yet there he was, all dressed up like he had this big, respectable job. It almost makes him laugh. He holds back the urge to do that though.

"Wasn't gonna show up," Puck admits because he really hadn't intended to go. His fucking mother had found a way to guilt him into it.

"Where've you been living, man?"

Puck stands there for a few moments to try to consider what he should say, if he should tell the truth. "Chicago. For now, at least. I don't like to stay in one place for too long."

"That's cool. I'm still in Lima. Working at Burt's garage. You?"

"Oh. An accountant. Fucking lame, I know."

"An accountant? Never would have expected that."

"Don't think anyone did." They've been walking the whole time they've been talking so as soon as Puck reaches the table where they're keeping the drinks he picks up one of the drinks and downs about half of it as quickly as he can. "See anyone else?"

"Quinn's here," Finn tells him with a slight nod of his head. "She married Sam a few years ago. Can you imagine that? She's pregnant. Second kid. Her other kid is, like, two or something." Finn takes a sip from his own drink as he looks around the room and then he nods slightly in the direction of the blonde in question.

Puck turns his head just a little bit so he can look in the direction that Finn just nodded and his eyes land on the woman that had his child their sophomore year. Quinn looks gorgeous. But, well, fuck, she was always gorgeous. That hadn't changed. He would always think she was gorgeous but that didn't mean that he still had any feelings for her whatsoever. Those faded a lot quicker than he thought they would. But that doesn't mean he can't appreciate how good she looks.

Her hair is longer than it was senior year, longer than it ever was, hanging down almost to her lower back in soft waves, pulled back away from her face with clips. She has a slight bump in her stomach and that means she can't be more than a few months along, maybe four or five. She was about that size when she was that far along with Beth. Her skin is glowing and she has this smile on her face as she looks at Sam. He has to admit, he's glad she's happy. She deserves to be happy after all the bullshit that she went through throughout their high school years. And he might be a tiny bit jealous that she got to be so happy when he hasn't gotten that type of happiness but that doesn't mean he's not happy for her.

"She looks good," he admits as he lifts his cup up, takes another drink from it. "Talk to anyone else?"

"Kurt and Blaine are showing up later. Still together. Can you fucking believe that? So are Tina and Mike. They're off…somewhere. Haven't spoken to Britt or Santana yet. They're probably somewhere around here though. Haven't bumped into them yet. There are a lot of people here with all the marriages and shit." Finn watches Puck for several long beats and then he sort of shakes his head like he's a little bit disappointed. "But I know that's not who you're asking about. You wanna know if _she's_ here. She's by the bleachers."

Puck slowly turns his head so he can look across the gym and when he finally looks in that direction? It doesn't take him long to actually see her standing there wearing a deep red dress, her hair pulled up in this sort of messy, curly twist on the back of her head. She looks fucking hot as hell, all long legs and tall heels. He had seen her on stage a few times but it's entirely different to see her standing there talking to Mr. Schue, laughing at something he says, looking like herself, looking so different and yet the same.

"You fucked her over pretty good," Finn reminds her as though he really needed to be reminded of the fact that he fucked up the best relationship he ever had. And his face betrays that as he looks back over at Finn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at him, silently tells him that he should shut the fuck up. "Dude, I'm just saying. When you took off she was pretty fucking broken up about shit. You hurt her, dude. You just gotta deal with that reality whether you like it or not."

Puck doesn't say anything about that. He just sort of nods his head a little bit and sort of tells Finn it was good to see him which isn't a lie but isn't the truth either and then makes his way through the room, watches Rachel the entire time. He watches her for what feels like forever before he finally gets up the courage to actually try to talk to her. Or, well, say something at least. And when he finally decides he should just fucking do it he makes his way over to her, stops right behind her, takes a slow, deep breath. "Hey, Rach."

She doesn't react at first. She doesn't react at all. It's like she doesn't know what she should say or do. And then she turns around very slowly to look at him, her face remaining impassive as she looks at him and then she reaches out and she slaps him. She slaps him _hard_. So hard that his head snaps to one side and his cheek instantly stings. He can't quite say he didn't deserve that. But everyone is fucking looking at him while she storms out of the gym and, yeah, it makes him feel like he's in the middle of one of her fucking plays. Not a good way to spend the reunion. And for a handful of seconds he just stands there trying to decide what he should do before he puts his glass down on the nearest table and then makes his way after her.

He follows her out into the hall, not really mad since he deserved it but is still following after her because he sort of feels like he needs to. Yeah, he understands why she's so mad at him but still. That doesn't mean he's about to get slapped and then just let her walk away. This whole thing has been ten years coming, the whole dealing with what he did and shit. "Rachel!" He isn't stupid. He doesn't expect her to turn around or anything. But he had to try. When that doesn't work though he just gets closer to her and then reaches out and grabs her arm. It makes her stop short and almost stumble, almost fall. But in the end she turns, her jaw set in annoyance. He has to admit- she's gotten better at looking really, really pissed off when the need arises. It's sort of hot, sort of really hot, but he can't let himself focus on that for too long. "Did you really think you could just slap me and walk the fuck away and nothing would happen? Do you not know me?"

"Apparently I never did." Her words sound bitter and he can't blame her. He _did_ walk out on her right before prom. He sort of really fucked her over when you got right down to it. Not that he could change what he had done but, yeah, he didn't blame her for being angry. He would have been angry if he was her. But the anger really surprises him. It damn near shocks him to the core. He never knew she was capable of that type of anger. He underestimated her a bit.

"Look, I get it. You're pissed. I fucked up. I'm sorry. But it was ten years ago. Don't you think we can move on? Try to forgive and forget and all that shit? Or, I don't know, at least _try_ to work through shit? Can we at least end this shit? Not hate each other? It's been a long time."

"No." She tugs against his grip and the only reason he lets her go is so that she doesn't hurt herself tugging against his arm. That's the last thing he wants, to physically hurt her or leave her bruised or some shit. He's not enough of an asshole to want that to happen. Even if he was pissed as fuck at her he wouldn't want to hurt her. "No, we can't just let shit go. You fucking abandoned me. You left without a goodbye. You left on _prom night_ when you were supposed to be my date. You let me down big time."

"I know I fucked up. I'm sorry. Can you just let it go?"

"No. No, Noah. I can't just let it go. You may have apologized but that doesn't mean I forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not for a very, very long time." She just watches him for what feels like forever before she walks away. And he knows there will be no more talking to her that night. Maybe not the rest of the few days he's there.

* * *

He has a job to do. He knew it was around Lima but he hadn't looked at the file he got yet. He's sitting in Lima Bean for the first time in ten years and he's got the folder in front of him. He hasn't opened it yet though he knows he can. He should look it over but he was a little distracted. The reunion was a big distraction. Reading the file at the coffee shop doesn't seem like a bad idea. It doesn't seem like a bad idea at all. He doesn't mind it one bit. No one ever questions what he's doing. People look at things in coffee shops all the time.

"Puck?"

Puck looks up from the folder on the table to see Quinn standing there, all wrapped up in a nice winter coat looking so pretty and so amazing that he has to stop himself from smiling at her, a cup of coffee in her hand though he can assume that its decaffeinated since she refused to drink regular coffee when she was pregnant with Beth even if a tiny bit of it wouldn't have hurt the baby. She was very cautious. That was all there was to it. She had never intended to keep Beth but she had been so cautious because that didn't mean she wanted anything bad to happen to the baby she was carrying. It was sort of really sweet though.

"Hey." His response comes out very slowly as he looks at her, sits back in his seat, licks almost awkwardly at his bottom lip. "Wow. Look at you. Fucking glowing. Heard this is your and Sam's second squirt. Congrats and all that shit." He tries to sound as sincere as he can because he _is_ sincere. He really _is_ happy for her even if she doesn't believe that. But he stands up slowly and looks her up and down. She really does look great. "Sorry I didn't get to say hello at the reunion. Shit got cut a little short." He does move forward though and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Yeah. I saw that. Your cheek still hurt?"

"Maybe a little." He shrugs it off with an easy smile and sits down at the table again, just looks up at her. "Go ahead and sit down." He motions slightly across from him to tell her that she should sit down. And it's not until he does that he sits back again and just looks her over, a small smile spreading across his face. "So, I saw you got onto TV. Good for you, Blondie. Don't really watch your show or anything. Not for real. I've seen it a few times though. You're pretty fucking good."

"I'm just going to take that as a straight compliment and not even think about your terminology." She smiles a little despite herself and takes a sip from her coffee. "Heard you became an accountant. Can't say I expected that one but…well, I always knew you were secretly smart. Now, you want to tell me what you thought would happen when you went to talk to Rachel? Did you think she'd jump into your arms and you'd have this movie reunion?"

"Didn't expect anything. Just thought I should face the music and talk to her. Didn't think I'd get slapped but…I didn't exactly expect her to be happy either. Don't know if I actually thought about what she would do."

"You sort of broke her, you know," Quinn drawls as she looks at him. "When you left like that. When she didn't show up at prom I went to check on her. Me and Kurt. She was just…sitting there in her living room in her dress and she was crying so hard she could barely talk. And this is Rachel Berry. She never has a problem talking. She was just…broken for, well, basically forever. And I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad or anything. I'm just saying that it really hurt her. So I expected worse than that. I thought she'd go for your eyes. I'm surprised at her restraint."

"Nice. Real nice, Q. Thanks." He lifts up his coffee cup in a mock salute and takes a sip out of it. "Look, I knew she'd be pissed. I know I fucked up. I know I shouldn't have just taken off the way I did. I couldn't help it. I had to get out of Lima. It was suffocating me. I knew I wasn't going to survive if I stayed here too long. I had to get out of here. I did it the shit way but I did what I had to. And yeah, I hurt her. I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't _want_ to hurt her. But I had to go."

Quinn just watches him for a long while, her hazel eyes searching his face and then she arches one of her eyebrows at him, this slow almost self-satisfied smile spreading across her face like she just confirmed something she's been thinking for a long while. It's sort of really hard to be comforted by the way she's looking at him but he's used to her searching looks. She gave them to him a lot in the short period of time that she was living at his house when she was pregnant. "You love her." She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Or you did, at least. But I think you still do."

"Doesn't matter." And that's the truth. It doesn't matter if he still loves her. He ruined whatever chance he had with Rachel a long, long time ago. He accepted that. Nothing was going to change the big mistake he made with their relationship. He shouldn't have left the way he had but he didn't see another choice at the time. If he had? If he had seen another way to get what he needed at the time, a way that wouldn't have hurt her? Then he would have taken it. He wouldn't have hurt her if he didn't need to. And it wasn't something that he took lightly, hurting Rachel the way he had. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

"Wow, you really did love her."

"Yeah, I did, okay?" He doesn't really sound annoyed or angry because he's not but he isn't sure why he's not. He should be with the way that Quinn is talking to him. He should be angry given everything that they're going on about. But he just can't bring himself to be. "You know, it's funny. Ten years and you can talk to me like nothing happened, Finn could come up to me and talk to me like it was nothing and Rachel slaps me. Funny. Girl can hold a fucking grudge. But…I guess I really did deserve it."

"You _do_ still love her."

"Like I said- it doesn't matter. I permanently fucked up shit with us when I bailed."

"Look, I'm only going to say this once and if you tell anyone I said it? I'm going to deny it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Underneath all your…bravado and the stuff you do? You're a pretty good guy. And when you care about someone? You care about them. It's obvious. So, you know, I can't tell you that things are going to be alright between you two. They probably won't be. This is Rachel and she holds a grudge like no one I ever met. But if you can make things work? Then make things works. Try to fix things. If you can. Because if she makes you happy? Well, then you owe it to yourself to go after that happiness."

Puck can't stop himself from laughing a little as he watches her. he never thought he'd live to see the day that Quinn Fabray- well, he guessed it was Quinn Evans now- would be sitting there giving him a pep talk or advice or anything of the sort. Not because she thought he was a bad person or anything but because it just didn't seem like they would ever get to that point. At least not back when they last spoke. "Motherhood has made you soft, Fabray."

"I can still be a monster when I need to be. Just wait until my kids hit their teenage years. It's going to be a constant battle and the claws are definitely going to come out."

"You happy, Fabray?"

Cocking her head to the side she looks like she's trying to decide whether he really wants to hurt it or not before he nods his head a little bit. "Yeah," she says after a moment. "Yeah, I'm happy."

"Good. I'm glad, Quinn. You deserve it."

He knows he should probably stick around and talk to her more or maybe do something, stick around, try to get to know her better, something. But instead he just smiles at her after he finishes downing the rest of his coffee, stands up, grabs his folder and heads out of the room.

* * *

Hiram Berry opens the door when he rings the bell and just looks at him. The look isn't completely friendly nor is it exactly angry. It's mostly stoic with a little bit of searching in his eyes. He stands there and crosses his long arms over his chest and tries to come across as much more intimidating than he could ever be. But he doesn't point that out to her because all it will do is end up making things worse than they are. Though he knows that things probably can't get much worse. Not really. He knows he's screwed up pretty badly by leaving. He didn't make a friend out of either of the Berry men by hurting their daughter.

"You have no reason to like me. Or to want me to be here at your front door. I understand if you're mad at me for what happened with Rachel. I don't expect anything from you." That much was true. He expects nothing from the man in front of him. He could _hope_ Hiram could find some sort of forgiveness inside of him but he didn't expect it.

"You're right. I don't have a reason to like you. You hurt my little girl pretty bad. But go ahead. Say whatever you feel you have to say."

He hadn't really prepared a speech or anything. He wished he had because he hadn't expected to see her father at the door. He expected to see Rachel and get the door slammed in his face. He definitely wasn't expecting what he got. "Right," he mused, swallowed a little. "I hurt Rachel. I know I did. I screwed up. I screwed over Rachel and my mother and my sister when I took off. But back then? Back then I cared about her. I loved her. And I didn't mean to hurt her. I took off because I thought that was the only way to get out of here. I handled it badly. And I owe Rachel a really big apology. And even if she doesn't care, even if she doesn't want to hear it? I think she at least deserves to get the apology. You don't have to like me. I don't expect you to like me. Not ever after what I did. But at least let me give Rachel the apology she deserves. Maybe explain things to her a little bit."

Hiram watches him for what feels like forever and he can almost feel the searching, can feel that he's trying to decide whether or not he can actually trust Puck. Not that Puck expects his trust. But after a moment he just nods his head a little bit and reaches inside to take his jacket off of the coatrack. "Well, if you want to try to give her that apology then try to give her that apology. I don't know that she'll actually listen to you though. And all I ask is that if she starts throwing things is that you leave. I don't want to have to replace most of the things in the house. And we both know that my little princess can be quite a bit dramatic."

He barely has the chance that he's going to try to make sure that there isn't a big problem before he's pulling on his coat and walking out and all Puck can do is go inside and close the door behind him, lock it up. Lima isn't a dangerous place but it doesn't mean he wants to leave her door unlocked. And for several long beats he just stands in the living room and tries to decide what he's going to say when he goes upstairs to talk to Rachel but fuck if he's actually good at planning out things to say. He's not really a speech type of guy. It's better to just to and talk to her and if she doesn't want to hear it? If she wants to kick him out? Well, that'll be up to her.

It's sort of really strange to be going upstairs to Rachel's room again after all those years between them. But he just tries not to think about it because it's just going to make things worse. Still it was really strange to be walking the same path he had so many times before, to be making his way to her room, to pause just beyond the doorway where she couldn't see him if she looked. He can think of a million ways where it could all go really, really bad. And maybe about one where it could go good. Those weren't very good odds. Not very good odds at all. But he's not chicken enough to _not_ take that risk.

He moves to her doorway and just looks at her sitting there on her bed and thinks about how familiar she looks, how if she didn't know any better she wouldn't think any time had passed at all between when they were together and that day. But he's not an idiot. He knows a lot of time has passed. So he just looks at her for a few seconds and then leans against the doorway. "I have a lot of good memories in this room, you know."

Rachel looks up from whatever book she's reading, her eyes wide and then they narrow in nothing less than true anger, true annoyance. She's not happy to see him but he didn't expect her to be happy about it. Why would she be happy about him being there? The anger seems a little stronger than it should be since she already got her slap in but he can handle it. "What are you doing here?" She tosses the book onto the bedside table and it almost falls off but she barely notices as she stands up.

"Your dad let me in. he thought you deserves an apology. An explanation."

"Maybe I don't want one."

"We both know you want an explanation. I already gave you your apology but another one can't hurt." He doesn't let her annoyance bother him even as he steps into the room, closes the door behind him like he owns the place. He's good at that sort of thing, taking over like he owns the place. He always has been. "And I think deep down you know that you want an explanation."

"No, I don't," she insists but he doubts that's even close to true. Why would she not want one? He screwed her over pretty badly. He knows that, she knows that. Everyone who knows them knows that he screwed her over pretty badly that night. "Or, maybe you just want to rant. If that's what you want? Go ahead. I won't stop you. I deserve it."

He barely finishes talking though before she slaps him. _Again_. She slaps him really hard, actually. Probably even harder than she slapped him the last time. He sort of deserves it though. Not that he's happy about it but he sort of deserves it. But when she goes to slap him the second time that night he reaches out and grabs her wrist to stop her, doesn't hold her hard enough to hurt her even though he's holding her wrist hard enough to stop her from actually hitting him.

"You hurt me," she hisses at him. "I loved you. And you just left. You left me without so much as a word. You just left me here sitting in my prom dress. You left town and you broke my heart. Don't you get that? I don't want an explanation. I don't want another apology. You broke my heart. You don't get to just walk back into my life like none of that ever happened."

"I'm not trying to pretend that it didn't happen. I want to explain why I did what I did-"

"I don't want your explanations. I want you to hurt as much as you've hurt me."

"What makes you think I haven't been hurting over the years?" he spit out at her. "What makes you think leaving you didn't hurt? What makes you think that I didn't care about you? Are you that stupid? Of course I cared about you! I loved you. I just had to get out. I had to leave. If I stayed her? I never would have left. I had to go as soon as possible. I'm sorry I hurt you. But I did what I had to do. Be mad all you want. But I did the only thing I could think to do."

"You just walked out and I-"

God, he wants her to shut up. He wants her to stop repeating herself. It's getting really fucking annoying. It's like she's stuck in a loop and she can't get herself out of it. And he knows she's mad. He doesn't blame her for being mad at him after everything that happened, after he just bailed on her. And so he does the only thing he always could do to shut her up. He kisses her. Yeah, it's kind of an asshole move but he doesn't care. It works.

The only sound she makes is this surprised little sound of protest and when he leans away from her she's just looking at him with these wide, almost haunted eyes like she just saw a ghost or a monster or something and he knows, deep down inside he knows it's because he fucked her up something fierce all those years ago. She seems to be doing alright now but he did a number on her way back when. But the way she's looking at him? It really just reminds her of all of the times she would look up at him like she was just asking him to give her affection, telling him to kiss her, love her. It's weird because he knows she's still angry at him. That hasn't changed. But there's something so much more innocent there. So different from anger. "You can kiss me or you can slap me," he whispers down to her. "Your choice."

For a moment she doesn't look like she knows which one she's actually going to choose. He can almost see the mental debate before she reaches up with her tiny little hands and fists her hands in the fabric of his shirt, mounts herself on her toes and kisses him. It's not this sweet, romantic kiss. There's still anger and resentment behind it but maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe it's not bad at all for her to still be angry at him for everything that happened between them. But he's not about to turn down getting a kiss over a slap.

He just returns the kiss, his hands going to her hips and he pulls her against him, her tiny body fitting against his just like it always did. Sometimes she used to comment that it was like they were meant to be together in a way because of the way that they fit together so perfectly. It was cheesy though and he tries not to think about it because it's really pathetic in a lot of ways. And he never really bought the whole 'made to fit together perfectly' thing. If she wanted to think that then it was fine. He could never stop her from thinking whatever it was that she wanted to think.

He backs her up against the door without so much as a second thought, his much larger body pressing hers up against it and she whimpers into his mouth, slips her arms up around his neck like she can hold him there though she knows she shouldn't be doing that. She should be slapping him and making him leave. But it's not like she has much control over it. She was always sort of putty when it came to Noah Puckerman and his touches and his kisses. The anger and the time hadn't changed that and would never change that. She could be mad at him for the rest of her life but she would still be irrationally drawn to him.

For a moment though she lets herself forget that she's so mad at him, that all that time has passed between them. It's stupid and it's going to cause more harm than good in the end most likely but she can't stop herself. She tugs at his shirt and presses herself close to him; she lets herself pretend for a moment that she's seventeen again and that prom night never happened, that he never just walked out of her life and abandoned her that way. Because if she's being honest with herself? Well, he's always sort of been really stuck in her system and it'll be nice to try to get him out of it.

She's not sure if he moves his hand to her inner thigh or if she moves it there but she just knows her hand goes on top of his and pushes it further up her thigh until it's pressed between her legs. She tilts her head back against the door and moans when his fingers start to move over her. She feels so pathetic and wanton, feels sort of like a slut but at the same time she doesn't really feel all that bad. It's not like she's some silly little virgin anymore. Not that she was a virgin when they were together or anything. But she's even less virginal and prude than she once was.

It sort of starts to happen pretty fast. She sort of comes undone under his touch and her hands go to his pants and undoes his pants, his hands tugging her underwear down underneath her skirt. It's funny that she's still into skirts after all that time. Not the same skirts, this one is more businesslike, this one fits the older version of her so much better, especially since she's wearing a blouse rather than one of her old sweaters.

She shimmies out of her underwear like she had been waiting forever for him to take them off. And maybe she _has_ been waiting a while. But he tries his best not to think about it. Because all thinking about it will do is mess with his head a little bit. Instead he just figures, well fuck, he might as well just go with the flow. He's the fucking master at going with the flow when it comes to girls. He's always gone with the flow when it comes to girls. Nothing was going to change that.

He slides a finger inside of her and then a second one, moves them slowly in and out of her. She's wet and she moans breathlessly, presses her hips against his hand. She keeps her head tilted back so he can't press his mouth back against hers but that doesn't bother him any. Instead he just presses his mouth against her neck, bites down, sucks on the skin over where her pulse is beating rapidly. He knows he's going to end up leaving a mark there and he can't say that it really bothers him all that much. He has left marks on her before and she's always been able to cover it up.

She whispers please and he asks her what she's asking for; she tells him that he knows exactly what she wants. And he sort of does but he likes playing games with her. He knows she probably doesn't like the games as much as he does but he hasn't changed enough that he doesn't appreciate them. He sort of really likes playing games with her. At least that kind of game. The game he played with her heart in high school? Well, that was accidental. He didn't really think his leaving would upset her as much as it did.

"You sure about this?" he whispers against her neck.

"Yeah."

He's not the type of guy to ask a second time and she's a big girl. If she wants him to stop she can open her mouth and tell him to stop. She's always been good at opening her mouth. So, he really doesn't think twice about it. He just pushes her skirt up around her hips, his mouth still pressed against her neck. When he leans back to look at her face her eyes are shiny with lust and her eyes are half closed, her mouth parted a little bit. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth, chews on it a little bit. She moans under her breath and whimpers when he tugs on her bottom lip and then sucks on it as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, tugs the condom out of it and drops his wallet onto the floor.

Her hands go to his waistband and she finishes undoing it because she had gotten so distracted by what he was doing to her before that he couldn't do it. She pushes his pants and his underwear down off of his waist and then it's sort of a mad rush to rip open the condom wrapper and put it on. Her hands go to his shoulders and then her arms go around his neck and he trips her thighs, lifts her up against the door. He doesn't even hesitate more than a handful of seconds before he thrusts himself inside of her. She's warm and tight around him and feels pretty much exactly like he remembered she did. It's sort of weird that ten years later being inside of her feels exactly the same as it used to. It's like nothing has changed and he's not sure if that should feel weird or not.

The sound she lets out is this sort of sigh, like a person who had been waiting for something for most of their lives and they just got it. He's not stupid though. He's pretty sure she actually has been with more than a couple of other men in the time since they split up. He'd been with his share of women. He wouldn't have expected her to be celibate or anything of the sort. But with the way she reacts it would seem like she hadn't had sex since the last time they were together. And yeah, it makes him feel really fucking cocky. He can't help that it makes him feel cocky.

Her mouth seeks out his like the idea of not kissing him just then is the worst thing in the world to her and he just kisses her back, thrusts inside of her as though his life depended on it but it's simply because he doesn't want her to change her mind. Not that he really thinks she's going to. Why would she change her mind all of a sudden? It doesn't seem logical.

She moves her hips against his as he moves inside of her, digs her nails into the back of his neck; she tilts her head back so it's against the door. His hand grips her thigh and he lifts her leg up so it's close to his waist and she hooks it around him, presses his body closer to hers. And he lets himself get lost in her. Because she's so fucking beautiful still and it feels so fucking good to be inside of her. He never really thought he'd be inside of her again. And with the way she moans and pants and bites down on his bottom lip he's glad that he came over even if afterwards they'll probably be fighting again.

When she takes one hand away from his neck and reaches down between them he knows she just wants to get there as quickly as possible. And so he takes his hand off of her thigh, sort of makes her move her hand away, presses his thumb against her clit and rubs. She tilts her head back and moans loudly, presses her hips more firmly against his.

She comes whispering his name; he follows her and comes breathing out hers. For a while they just stay like that, both of them trying to catch their breath. And when they fall into bed and strip off the rest of their clothes, repeat the process? He sort of wishes that he could go back and erase all of the pain he caused her because then they wouldn't be in that bad place. He just knows that he can't do that. And a part of him can't stop from being upset about that. Because the fact of the matter is that he still loves her. And he always will. Quinn was right about that.

He stays there for a while after she falls asleep. But he leaves before she can wake up because he just doesn't want her to wake up and start to fight with him. But this time? This time he leaves her a message just so she doesn't feel like she's being abandoned all over again, leaves a note on her bedside table telling her that he'll be at his mother's house for a few more days if she wants to talk to him.

He can't just walk out on her again entirely.

* * *

His mother and his sister are out shopping when he sits down in his bedroom and finally opens up the folder to look at the information there, to see who it was that he's supposed to kill. There's a lot of information inside of the folder. He's not sure what to make of it at first. It's mostly just stuff that looks a lot like a schedule which he supposes is a good thing. He normally likes to track people himself but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate some of the work being done for him. He'll probably still do research on his own though. It never hurts to watch a target a little bit even with information already being given.

The target is a lawyer from the looks of things. They don't always give him names and if there's a name there he hasn't found it yet. He's looking through the file to find a picture more than anything. And when he finally sees the picture he lets out this slow, heavy breath like he can't decide what he should say or do. But he just knows that he can't kill the person he's being paid to kill. As soon as he sees the picture that means that he just can't do it. And he's never gotten to the point where he knew he just couldn't kill the person that he was contracted to kill. But he knew just then he couldn't do it.

Closing up the folder he grabbed his keys and his jacket, made his way down to his car, got in and drove out of town. He drove so he was far enough away that he could honestly be sure no one would know he was in Lima. And once he was there he pulled out one of the prepaid throw away phones that he used when on the job and called up the only person he knew could get information for him without raising red flags. Sometimes it really paid to know a hacker. And he really needed to get information on the guy who had hired him.

Once he hangs up he smashes up the phone and throws the pieces of it into the water. Better safe than sorry. But then as soon as he's done with that he gets right back in his car knowing he'll get a call on another one of his phones in a day or two. He gets in his car and he drives back into Lima. It's not like he can stay far away. He has to do what he has to do. And what he has to do has nothing to do with killing his target. Because he refuses to do that. Not knowing who it is.

He had never planned on going back to Rachel's house. He planned on just waiting it out and seeing if she was ever going to call him and see if they were going to end up talking or if she was just going to leave it the way that it was. But he finds himself right outside of the door and wondering who is going to answer when the door opens. But he needs to get inside. So he just curls his hand into a fist and knocks on the door, waits until the door opened.

This time its Leroy Berry and he doesn't quite give him the same look Hiram did when he came before. Maybe it was because Hiram had told him that he had stopped by trying to apologize to Rachel. Instead he just steps aside and lets Puck in which he's thankful for. He _is_ there for a reason, after all. And he can't really do what he needs to do unless he's in the house. So he sort of fucking thanks his lucky stars that Leroy just lets him inside. He has a lot of shit to explain and he can't do it unless he gets the chance to talk to them. And privacy? Well, privacy is key in that type of a situation. No need to reveal everything to the whole fucking neighborhood.

He opens his mouth to say something but Leroy turns towards the stairs. "Hiram? Rach? Come downstairs. We have a visitor." And fucking seriously? He has shit he needs to say and the guy isn't making it fucking easy. Not by a fucking longshot. He seriously wants to scream or fucking hit him or something to get his attention. But, well, hitting him wasn't going to do any good. It wouldn't do anywhere close to any good. Yeah, he doubted that any of them would trust him if he went around hitting them.

But Rachel and Hiram come downstairs and they both just sort of look at him as they get to the landing. And when Rachel opens her mouth he cuts her off. He knows she'll probably be pissed about it but that doesn't mean that he regrets it. He needs to get them all to listen to her. It was more important than a greeting. "No time for pleasantries or any of that shit. Fact of the matter is that you guys? Yeah, you gotta get out of this house. Like, right fucking now."

"Excuse me?"

Okay, so he doesn't blame Leroy for the way that he's looking at him. He knows it's probably confusing and weird but whatever. He has to do what he has to do. And if it means being rude? Well, then he'll be fucking rude. He really doesn't care. "Look, you know how being a lawyer can make you a lot of enemies? Well, you made yourself some enemies. And apparently one of those enemies wants you dead. And I know this shit because they hired _me_ to kill you."

"Noah…what are you talking about?" Rachel seems to fucking confused and how can he blame her? That's not the shit she probably expected to hear. Who thinks that their ex-boyfriend is going to tell you that he was hired to kill your father?

"Okay, cards all out and shit, right?" Puck shrugs his shoulders a little bit like it's not a big deal only it is a big deal. It's a huge deal. It's not like he's ever told anyone the whole fucking truth. "I'm a killer. An assassin. I fucking kill people for money. And I've been hired to kill your father. Sounds nuts, right? But that's how it is. And…I can't do it. I can't kill your father because I love you. Fucked up, right? To still love you after all this time? But whatever. Point is? Your dad's life is in danger and no one would risk not having a fucking backup plan in case one assassin doesn't do their job properly. So they've probably hired someone else, too. So you all need to get out of the fucking house."

"You're joking, right? This is a joke," Rachel breathes out with a laugh that isn't even close to amused. And yeah, he sort of feels like shit for that but what the fuck can he go about it? He's being honest with her for her own good. And, well, the good of her fathers.

"Why would I make a joke like that? It's not fucking funny. If I was going to make a fucking joke I wouldn't make a joke like that. You can think whatever the fuck you want about me but I wouldn't make a joke like that." Was she really that fucking mental? Why would she think he would make a joke about a guy trying to kill one of her fathers? He'd be an even bigger dick than he admitted to being if he did that just as a fucking joke. And he wouldn't ever do that to the girl he had pathetically loved for the last ten years. Yeah, he could admit he was fucking pathetic for still being in love with her.

"Look, I'm trying to help your family. And to do that you gotta get the fuck out of here. Why would I lie about something like that? I'm a lot of fucking things, including a fucking killer but I wouldn't fucking lie to you about this."

"Stop saying you're a killer!" Rachel's eyes are wide and shiny like she's about to cry. "It's not funny!"

"Fucking listen to me." Moving forward he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her just a tiny bit, mostly just to make sure that she was paying attention to him. "Listen to me. I'm an assassin. I'm a hired killer. I joined the army when I left and then I killed people for the government for a while, okay? I got fucking tired of it. But I was good at killing. So I still do it. And I've never fucking tuned down a goddamn job until now. Because I do _not_ want to kill your dad. You don't have to fucking believe it but it's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you about this shit. You can think whatever the fuck you want about me knowing this shit. But you have to trust me. It's the _only way_ all of you are going to get out of this alive. Okay?"

"Noah-"

He growls at the idea of her not believing him because who the fuck makes up this shit? Who fucking makes up being a fucking assassin hired to kill her father? And he starts to tell her that the idea of fucking standing there and debating that shit is just wasting time, time they don't really have and her father could get killed. But he really doesn't get the words out because a bullet goes through the window and hits the wall next to a family picture.

Rachel's head spins in the direction of the bullet hole and then she looks back at him, her eyes wide. And so as soon as she looks in his direction he gives her this brief look that tells her that he fucking told her so. Why would he fucking lie about that shit? But now isn't the time to play the 'I told you so' game. Instead he just grabs her around the arm, tight enough to show her that he means business but not tight enough to leave a bruise. He doesn't want to actually fucking hurt her. "I'd love to play the 'I told you so' game right now but you gotta get your asses upstairs. And now. Right fucking now." He sort of turns her around and pushes her towards the door. "Just go. Go now. Go upstairs and lock yourself in one of the rooms. It's the only fucking way you're going to stay safe."

Rachel looks like she wants to stand her ground like the stubborn little bitch that she can be but then she motions for her fathers to do what they were told. They have to get upstairs. She doesn't look so sure she knows what's actually going on but she looks damn sure that they need to move. A bullet _was_ just fired into their house so they have to get out of there and she knows that. She's a lot of things but she's not stupid. So she helps her fathers upstairs. Or, rather, she hurries them upstairs so that they aren't waiting around to get a bullet in them and then she looks at Puck as she moves away from him, as she backs up the stairs. "Noah…what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do what I have to do." He knows they don't really have time for what they're doing but he doesn't care. He knows he could die. He knows that for sure. But still he moves forward and he takes her face in his hands, presses a firm kiss to her mouth. "I'll do whatever I have to just to be sure that nothing happens to your fathers. And you. Just go upstairs, Rachel. Go upstairs _now_."

"Why are you risking yourself for us?"

"I already said it. I love you. Now go. Go before you get a fucking bullet in your head."

She turns and starts up the stairs, stops before she vanishes out of sight. "Noah? I never stopped loving you, you know. But if we make it out of this? I am going to beat you with a bat."

He really can't stop himself from laughing when she says that even as he's shrugging off his jacket and pulling his gun out. Another shot rings out and he ducks down, hides behind the couch as the bullet goes through the lamp and shatters it. The window is totally destroyed and there's glass raining down on the living room. It sort of helps though because that means he can get to the window and he can fire through the hole. It makes it easier than trying to fire through the door. It usually means a waste of bullets.

He moves as he's on the floor sort of crawling across the floor so he can get over by the window and stays crouched down near it, checks his gun again to make sure that he has bullets. He has extras in case he needs them but he sort of hopes he doesn't. It's not like it'll be easy explaining a bunch of dead bodies to the police. He might have to though. And in all fairness he can say that this is all about self-defense. They _did_ fire into the house to begin with. He's just protecting himself and Rachel and her dads. For once anyone he kills? It's totally justified.

When he finally lifts himself up a little he's careful about it. He does it slowly because the last thing he wants is to stand up all the way and fucking end up getting his head blown off. He stands up just enough to look out the broken window with the gun in his hand. He looks and he waits. He waits to see if anything out there moves. He doesn't want to shoot at nothing. Or shoot any innocent person out there either. Shit isn't fucking kosher. And the fact is? No one he ever gets paid to kill is innocent. It's just not the case.

It's not until he sees one guy stand up with a gun that he fires. He fires and the bullet hits the guy in the head. His body stumbles and falls, blood running down his face. He ducks back down just before the gunshots start again. The bullets come faster, shooting inside of the house. Glass shatters pretty much everywhere and he closes his eyes just to make sure that he doesn't get any of it in his eyes. That's the very last thing that he needs to have happen. The bullets come in a large quantity and pretty fucking quickly, too. He's pretty lucky that he doesn't get any glass in his eyes.

But really? In the end what actually ends up happening if that one of the bullets goes through the side of the house. It goes through the side of the house and hits his arm, drags across the side of it. It's a graze instead of a through and through which is good because it means less damage. But it still fucking hurts. It fucking hurts a lot so he puts his gun down on the floor and reaches down, rips off a strip at the bottom of his shirt and wraps it around the bullet wound as tight as he can to stop himself from bleeding more than he has to.

He just stays down on the ground and waits. He has to wait because they're probably waiting for him to get up and fire and he's not an idiot. He waits. He waits until he hears the door open and then he fires. The bullet hits the guy in the leg and he falls to the ground almost instantly, the gun in his hand sliding away from him. Puck moves instantly and goes to him. He slams his elbow into the bullet wound to stop him from being able to get up. Shooting pain like that? It stops people in their tracks.

They sort of end up wrestling there on the ground. He's not even sure how he does it but somehow Puck manages to get him into a choke hold, puts one hand on his chin and presses the other one against the his temple. And then he applies pressure in opposite directions with both hands. The guy's neck snaps with a sickening crack and _fuck_ did that make his fucking arm hurt really badly. Like a really big shooting pain. He can't even explain how much that fucking hurt.

He kicks the door shut just before the gunshots go off again. And it's a good fucking thing too that he got the door shut because if it had been opened there was no way he wouldn't have gotten another fucking bullet through the skin. And the last thing he wanted is to end up with a million fucking holes in him from bullets. One bullet wound is more than enough to last a fucking lifetime. Well, more than enough to last at least until the end of that fucking mess he had gotten himself into. If he ends up getting shot again in his life? Well, then he'll deal with it. But one fucking bullet that day is enough.

And okay, time for a change of fucking plans. Because the whole shootout thing that they had going wasn't going how he hoped it would. All it was doing was making it so the fucking house was getting ruined and he was going to waste a shitload of fucking bullets. So, it was better to let them think that they're getting the drop on them and then get to them up close and in person. He can save bullets and still get the shit done that needs to get done. That was what mattered.

Grabbing his gun just in case he headed upstairs to go check on Rachel and his fathers. He's positive that they should be alright- physically at least- but that doesn't mean that he can't check on them. So he makes his way upstairs and then down the hall to the closed door, curls up his hand into a fist and knocks on the door. "It's me. Open the door." If they know its him then he has a better chance of them opening the door and when the door opens it barely opens, just a crack. Rachel's face appears in the opening and she looks out at him. She opens the door even wider to see him, frowns when she sees the blood on his arm. "Are you hurt?"

"A little. I'll be fine." He glances around her at her fathers, looks them over quickly to make sure that they're alright. "This isn't done yet. I want you guys to lock this door, lock yourselves in your bathroom. Don't come out unless it's me who knocks on the door. If you lock yourselves in the bathroom it'll be harder for them to get to you. I have to finish handling this."

"You were serious, weren't you? About being an assassin."

"Deadly." Reaching out he takes her face between his thumb and index finger as he looks at her. "We can talk about this later. Don't really have the fucking time right now. But if you want to talk to me about this later? That's fine. I expect a big fucking lecture when all this shit is done." Downstairs he can hear the front door open. "Go into the bathroom. Lock the door. Stay in there until I give you the all clear." He kisses her quickly and then lets her go, steps back away from her. "Close the door. Now. Right now."

As soon as the door closes behind her he moves into another room and ducks out of sight and waits. He just waits until someone comes up the stairs. He stays there and waits until the guy comes to that doorway. His room is before where the closed one is. And, well, it would be a very good option to close a door or two to pretend you're hiding in there and then hide in a room with the door open. That's probably what they figured her family did. Either that or they're actually a very good assassin. Because a good assassin will check every single room just to be safe, just to be sure they get done what they need to get done.

Crouching down Puck pulls the knife he keeps in his boot out and then stands up slowly, makes sure he has a good grip on it before he stands back up, keeps his grip on the knife firm so he's ready. He has to be ready. Being prepared is the one fucking way he has a chance to not fucking die. And he's really looking forward to living. At least for another few days. Dying just then would really put a damper on his fucking life. So he knows he has to be on guard. He has to be careful.

He waits and he listens as the floorboards creak; she watches and waits until the footsteps stop, waits and waits until he has the opportune moment. And then when she guy gets close enough he moves. He moves and puts his hand over the guy's mouth, covers it so he can't scream and then he stabs him in the side. People underestimate how easily a blade can slide into someone's skin. It's almost like slicing through butter with a warm knife. If people knew that there were some areas in the body that have no resistance at all to be found they'd be so very, very surprised.

The guy struggles against Puck's grip even as he pulls the blade out of his side. With the wound in his arm he knows he doesn't have the strength to play this game for too long. Normally he would be able to possibly torture someone for hours. It wasn't his thing. He was a killer but not really a sociopath. He only has ever done what he has to do. And right then he has to just get it over with. So he lifts his hand up and he presses the blade against the guy's neck, yanks it across. The skin splits and blood pours down.

Letting him go he watches the body fall to the floor, watches him squirm on the floor. The cut is deep enough to kill but not for a while. He just lays there choking on his own blood, air bubbles forming at his neck. And yeah, he doesn't want to watch him lying there bleeding to death. The cut to the neck was just intended to make sure he couldn't scream and alert anyone else that's there. It's just to quiet him down. So just to put him out of his misery Puck kneels down and stabs the blade right through his heart. The blood is warm when it hits his hand and he tries not to think about it but he still hasn't gotten used to the feeling of blood on his hand. He doesn't think he ever will

Pulling the blade out of the body he wipes it on his pants leg to get it as clean as he can before he sticks it back into his boot. The body lies unmoving on the floor, the blood flow slowing down. Without the heart still beating to bump the blood throughout his body it doesn't move as fast. That's another thing he learned along the way. Once the heart stops beating the blood flow slows down. But the mess is already there all over the floor so it's still going to have to be cleaned up.

He barely has the chance to stand up before someone's on him. He gets knocked onto the floor onto the arm that got shot and he lets out this loud grunt before he can stop himself. It fucking hurts and it just made the wound bleed more. He wouldn't be surprised if the way he landed ripped open the wound more than it already was. An arm goes around his neck and presses up under his chin, tilts his head back, adds pressure to his throat that makes it hard to breathe though not impossible. It just made shit hard.

The guy's entire weight was on his back and he was a fucking heavy guy. Really fucking heavy. He moves his legs the best that he can so he can try to reach his blade. And it takes forever. Well, it feels like it takes fucking forever. Sometimes time goes in very strange ways. It can feel like its slowing down and speeding up all at the same time. And right then it feels like it's going very, very slow. But somehow he manages to reach the knife and yanks it out. He turns it around the best he can in his hand, turns it so he can angle it properly and then he stabs the guy in the arm.

The guy above him sort of screams but it's more of a harsh grunt. His hand jerks against Puck's neck and then he moves it away. He moves it away just because he has to. Because he's in pain now. And when you're in pain you don't always think. He does, however, slam a hand onto Puck's hand holding the knife. Once, twice, three times until he releases the knife and then he hits the knife so it ends up sliding across the floor out of Puck's reach which really doesn't fucking help. Because the gun is really hard to use that close. And it wouldn't be easy to get the gun with the two of them so close together anyway.

The guy has moved enough so that Puck can jam his elbow into his chest. He only does it though to get him to move. He needs to get the guy to move so that he can move. And it works just enough to make Puck scramble away from underneath him. And fuck if he doesn't feel really fucking pathetic for practically crawling across the floor to get away but it's not like he's left with many choices. And he's really just trying to roll over. So if he has to crawl to do that then he's going to crawl. And once he's far enough away to actually roll over he looks at the guy there and doesn't really focus on his face. There's no reason to focus on his face.

Curling his hand into a fist Puck hits him right in the chin, sends his head back a little. It makes his knuckles hurt but it's a good kind of hurt because it means he's accomplishing something. He hits him again until the guy falls backwards. Rolling over onto his knees Puck reaches for the gun but it got knocked away somewhere when he got knocked to the ground. He's not sure where it went though. So he just starts to crawl towards the knife. It's the only option he has left now.

His fingers are just about to reach the knife when someone grabs his ankle and stops him. The hand moves further up his leg until Puck is forced to roll over to try to kick him away. But he knows he can't do that in the end. He can't kick him away no matter how much he wants to when he's on his stomach. The guy is still going but it has to be adrenaline. That's the only thing that makes sense. Not that Puck should be lying there thinking about it. He can't help it though. His brain does stupid shit sometimes. But then hands are around his neck squeezing down pretty damn hard and he can barely breathe. So Puck knows he has to get the knife. He doesn't have a choice.

He reaches out for the knife the best that he can. His fingers hit the hilt and he tries to drag it closer to him but it's not that easy and without being able to breathe that makes it a thousand times harder. But he still tries to drag the knife closer to him, tries as hard as he can until finally he can feel the hilt against his palm. He wraps his fingers around it, holds it the best he can in his hand, turns it again so he's holding properly, closes his mouth as tightly as he can and then pulls back the blade and slams the blade into the man's neck.

Blood gushes out of the wound and hits Puck's face, his neck. The man's eyes widen and Puck turns the blade a little bit, rips open the skin more than it had been. The grip on his neck starts to loosen until his hands fall away entirely and the body collapses on top of him. Coughing as he tries to take air in again he just lays there for a while with the dead body on top of him. He lays there and tries to bleed the best that he can even though it's very, very difficult to breathe.

It takes him a while but he eventually pushes the body off of him so he can breathe better and coughs, lays there with his entire body screaming in pain. That shit is why he fucking _hate_ up-close and personal kills. He hates them because it just makes shit really, really hard and really, really painful. He always ends up bruised and bloody and broken. Well, almost broken. And he would have really liked to avoid that. Unfortunately he couldn't avoid it that day. He had no choice. The one fucking time he goes and tries to defend someone instead of killing them and he gets shot and almost strangled and gets fucking blood all over him.

"Rachel!" God, his fucking throat hurts like all fucking hell from the pressure that was applied to it but whatever. He has to get her attention. That's what's important. He has to get her attention. "Rachel, you can open the door!" He would go over there and knock but he's in too much pain to actually do that. He'll be okay in a little bit but just then? Just then he doesn't have the energy yet. And he's in far too much pain. But he needs her to know that everything is all clear out there.

It takes a few seconds before he hears the door start to open and Puck turns his head slightly in the direction of the bedroom door. Rachel's head pops out and she looks up and down the hall and then she crouches down to grab something. When she stands up he can see it's the gun. Well, it had gone and almost hit the door. Explains why he couldn't really find it. But she holds it in her tiny little hand and makes her way over to him, crouches down and runs her hand over the side of his face, puts the gun on the floor next to him and then she shifts around and lifts his head up, rests it in her lap. "Noah, are you okay?"

"I'll live." Bad fucking joke to make when there's two dead bodies in the fucking hall. "Don't worry about the blood. Most of it isn't mine. Just…the blood on my arm."

"That's not very comforting."

"Better wounded than dead."

"You really are a killer, aren't you?" She looks so sad and so vulnerable he feels so bad. He wishes he could tell her that he wasn't. He wishes he could say he lied to her, that he's just a normal guy that has great killing skills but he can't lie to her about that. Especially not after everything. He just wishes he could.

"Yeah. I can stop though. I can quit. I really _am_ an accountant during my down time." Reaching up he takes one of her hands in his, squeezes gently. "I'd stop for you," he tells her quietly. "If you asked me to quit this? I'd do it. All you have to do is ask."

"Let's not talk about this now. Let's wait until you're feeling better and then I can yell at you for being such an idiot." He laughs a little and it hurts but it doesn't matter. It's worth it. Her eyebrows furrow in a frown as she hears the sound of sirens heading in their direction. "How are we going to explain this?"

"Self-defense," he offers. "They were trying to kill us. I defended us. The most I'll get is shit for having an unlicensed weapon. I think I can handle the fine." He squeezes down on her hand again. "I'll find the guy who tried to hire me, who hired them, and I'll make sure your father is going to be safe. I promise." He knows he shouldn't make promises like that because it involves more killing but he knows that he has to do that. He has to make sure her fathers are safe so that they don't have to go through that again. "It's all going to be alright, Rachel. Just give it some time. But it'll be alright in the end." He isn't sure though if she believes that. But with the little smile she gives he knows she knows he'll at least try to make sure everything is alright. And that's better than nothing. It's really all he can hope for.

* * *

His arm is still in a lot of fucking pain but in the end he knows that he's going to be alright. There shouldn't be any permanent nerve damage or anything of the sort. He's lucky for that, he supposes. He's standing in Rachel's bedroom as she packs her stuff up to go back home to New York. The house is still a wreck but he's dealt with everything he could on his end. The mess can be cleaned up and he's dealt with the guy who hired him to kill her father.

They haven't really spoken much about what happened. He's pretty sure that she doesn't want to talk about it and he can't blame her. She went through a whole lot during all of that. It had to have been scary and intense for her. And it isn't every day a girl finds out the boy she had loved in high school was a hired killer. Or that he was hired to kill her father. But she handled it pretty well all told. He would have expected her to actually react a thousand times worse than she had.

She barely looks at him as she's packing and he can't blame her. He wouldn't want to look at him if he were her either. He'd want to avoid talking to him and looking at him if he was going through what she was. But that didn't mean that he liked that she was avoiding looking at him. He didn't like it at all. But he couldn't be mad at her. He couldn't be annoyed. He couldn't blame her even a little bit. He actually found it very hard to ever be truly annoyed with her.

"Going back to New York?" He knows it's a dumb question because she's obviously going back to New York. That's where her home is but it's the only way to actually start a conversation with her. Or at least the only way thought shouldn't make things entirely awkward between the two of them. And that's the last thing he wants. For things to be awkward between them. Not that they aren't already.

"Yeah."

"So, I guess this is goodbye then."

"I guess."

He watches her quietly for a couple of seconds and then sighs, runs a hand over his face. "I meant what I said."

"What part?"

"That if you want me to quit I will. I'll do it for you. Just tell me and I'll quit."

She pauses in what she's doing and turns to look at him, her eyes skimming over his face and she really, truly looks like she's considering it. Maybe that's wishful thinking but she really seems to be considering it. And then she just looks back at the packing that she's doing. "Why don't you come visit me in New York in a couple of weeks once I have time to process and we'll see how things go?"

"I can do that."

"Okay." She pauses again, looks over at him. "Thank you. For saving my father, I mean."

"Any time."

He does go and visits her in a few weeks to make sure that she's doing alright with everything that happened. He ends up staying in her apartment for a week. They decide to try things even though his past makes her uncomfortable. But if it means he has an actual chance with her? Well, he's more than willing to leave that all behind.

* * *

Author's Note: For a prompt on LJ that called for Puckleberry Grosse Pointe Blank style.


End file.
